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Balthazar’s Daughter
by
She parted from him, and he too rose to his feet.
“And afterward,” she said quietly, “and afterward you must die just as Tebaldeo died.”
“That is the law, madonna. But whether Alessandro enters hell to-day or later, I am a lost man.”
“Oh, that is very true,” she said. “A moment since you were Count Eglamore, whom every person feared. Now there is not a beggar in the kingdom who would change lots with you, for you are a friendless and hunted man in peril of dreadful death. But even so, you are not penniless, Count Eglamore, for these jewels here which formed part of your masquerade are of great value, and there is a world outside. The frontier is not two miles distant. You have only to escape into the hill-country beyond the forest, and you need not kill Duke Alessandro after all. I would have you go hence with hands as clean as possible.”
“Perhaps I might escape.” He found it quaint to note how calm she was and how tranquilly his own thoughts ran. “But first the Duke must die, because I dare not leave you to his mercy.”
“How does that matter?” she returned. “You know very well that my father intends to market me as best suits his interests. Here I am so much merchandise. The Duke is as free as any other man to cry a bargain.” He would have spoken in protest, but Graciosa interrupted wearily: “Oh, yes, it is to this end only that we daughters of Duke Alessandro’s vassals are nurtured, just as you told me–eh, how long ago!–that such physical attractions as heaven accords us may be marketed. And I do not see how a wedding can in any way ennoble the transaction by causing it to profane a holy sacrament. Ah, no, Balthazar’s daughter was near attaining all that she had been taught to desire, for a purchaser came and he bid lavishly. You know very well that my father would have been delighted. But you must need upset the bargain. ‘No, I will not have it!’ Count Eglamore must cry. It cost you very highly to speak those words. I think it would have puzzled my father to hear those words at which so many fertile lands, stout castles, well-timbered woodlands, herds of cattle, gilded coaches, liveries and curious tapestries, fine clothing and spiced foods, all vanished like a puff of smoke. Ah, yes, my father would have thought you mad.”
“I had no choice,” he said, and waved a little gesture of impotence. He spoke as with difficulty, almost wearily. “I love you. It is a theme on which I do not embroider. So long as I had thought to use you as an instrument I could woo fluently enough. To-day I saw that you were frightened and helpless–oh, quite helpless. And something changed in me. I knew for the first time that I loved you and that I was not clean as you are clean. What it was of passion and horror, of despair and adoration and yearning, which struggled in my being then I cannot tell you. It spurred me to such action as I took,–but it has robbed me of sugared eloquence, it has left me chary of speech. It is necessary that I climb very high because of my love for you, and upon the heights there is silence.”
And Graciosa meditated. “Here I am so much merchandise. Heigho, since I cannot help it, since bought and sold I must be, one day or another, at least I will go at a noble price. Yet I do not think I am quite worth the value of these castles and lands and other things which you gave up because of me, so that it will be necessary to make up the difference, dear, by loving you very much.”